


Tenebris Salvatoris

by joukaimokie



Series: Lux et Tenebrae [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Gen, Human!Mikleo, Michael and young Mikleo, Never make a pact with a hellion, spoilers for late game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joukaimokie/pseuds/joukaimokie
Summary: Before Mikleo left Camlann he was given a dark gift but deciding what to do with it isn't as simple as receiving it.Prequel to Lux et Tenebrae, and as with that there are spoilers for late game.





	Tenebris Salvatoris

**Author's Note:**

> Tale of Zestiria does not belong to me and I am making no money off of this. 
> 
> In further notes this is a short prequel to Lux et Tenebrae to explain how Mikleo got his abilities. You can read this before or after without much confusion. This is very much a 'fully explain what actually happened' however some things are revealed that do not appear for numerous chapters in Lux et Tenebrae but are not big plot secrets.

The images would forever be scarred into his mind, burned and scalding just as the flames that consumed Maotelus’ shrine. He should had stopped it. Blood would be spilled but the end would be the same. Instead he allowed Rolance in on the promise of protection. They had lied. Retreated as soon as Hyland appeared. And now Maotelus’ shrine had been desecrated, his people murdered. 

A failure as a once Shepherd. He had not managed to save them, only led them to more pain. Malevolence ripped through the town of Camlann, twisting those around into creatures of nightmare. 

He could still reach it, his sword sealed away, but what good would it do? He couldn’t wield the flames of purification any longer. Like those before him he had disappeared from sight. Michael nearly trembled with the rage that filled him as he stared up at Maotelus’ mutated form. His hearing seemed muted, unable to hear Muse crying his name. She clutched the small bundle against her breasts as she reached out for him. 

There was only one choice, one chance for them to survive. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered as he stepped closer to Maotelus. The flames licked at him, able to feel the burn. 

“Maotelus! Lend me your strength! Give upon me the power to save this land!” He reached out and touched the leathery skin of the Seraph. “Old friend, bless me with your power and you shall have my life. It shall be bound to Camlann,” he stretched out his arms and his heart pounded as Maotelus lifted his head and his eyes glimmered. 

He was destroyed, but he had brought Maotelus, kept him safe. Whatever the cost he would pay it in order to save his land, his people, and his family. One clawed foot took a step forward as Maotelus roared. Michael could feel the strength that seemed to emanate from him and slammed into him like a brick. The force of it caused his knees to buckle and weakly Michael lifted his head. 

He expected power, expected anything, but all he felt was weak. Hands splayed across the ground and fingers touched solid wood. Maotelus snorted before he turned away and Michael touched the silken wood. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t human made. It seemed to emanate power unlike anything. Hands touched the thick leather that held the arrows. 

“Is this the power?” Michael whispered as he stared at the bow. There was something about it, something dark yet beautiful. The elegant bow curved beautifully and Michael grasped it as he turned. An arrow was notched back, the string almost crystalline between his fingers. 

It didn’t seem to fit him. It was too small, the bend too flexible. But he would use it anyway. The string ripped at his fingers, rubbed against them as an arrow flew towards one of the hellions. It was weak, the bow unmatched and his aim clumsy. Handling a bow was different than his sword or the tools he had grown so accustomed to, but it didn’t matter. This was his only chance. An arrow slammed deep and the hellion looked at him and charged forward unhindered. Its claws swiped at him and Michael groaned as he hit the ground. 

Why? Why? Where was the power? 

It was nowhere. Nothing could save them, and as more poured in the hellion turned away. 

“Michael!” The violet eyes filled with fear as Muse rushed over and wrapped an arm around her brother. He felt the warmth of her body, the embrace, and the small infant that moved slightly against his chest. He couldn’t save them, not now, not ever. Weakness pulled at his mind, nearly shattering his mind. His hand ran over the fabric of Muse’s dress and she pulled him up. Her hand gripped his and he could see the fear that reflected across her face. 

She pulled him harder as tears streamed down her face, horror written in her eyes at the sight of the bodies that gathered and the screams that echoed. Michael felt numb, unable to do anything. He had failed those that trusted him. Being the Shepherd once had been for nothing. He could carry the fate of the world upon his shoulders but he couldn’t not save those that depended on him. 

“Lord Zenrus!” Muse gasped and Michael lifted his head. Pain struck again, ate away at him. 

“What has happened here?” 

“Maotelus has become a hellion,” voicing the words made reality all that much crueler. He had brought Maotelus there and he couldn’t even keep him safe. Michael’s hand tightened on the bow, his knuckles white. Even as Zenrus didn’t say anything he knew that he could feel the horror as well. 

“It must be done,” Zenrus’ voice was quiet as he looked across the ruin. Michael knew what it was and he was prepared for it. He had sworn to Maotelus that his fate would be sealed to this land. He would never break that pact. 

Muse’s eyes widened slightly as she looked at her brother. “No, Michael.” 

He shook his head and stared down. Muse’s arms trembled as tears fell. “Michael, can no one truly leave?” 

“The malevolence is everywhere, if one even permeated by it was to bring it to the world,” he didn’t want to finish those words as Muse clutched the child tighter. Her sobs echoed as Zenrus moved through the bodies and froze. It wasn’t possible but it was a ray of hope. Any born could had been touched, but there was a small sound, a woman’s abdomen ripped open and amongst the blood and innards the small infant moved slightly. He was small, too small. He shouldn’t even had survived. 

“Selene…” Muse’s voice was a whisper. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.” 

Zenrus stood before the child. Chances were great that even without this he wouldn’t had survived. But he had. He was too young, too immature, to be a victim to the malevolence. He lifted the tiny child, so much smaller than he should had been. 

Muse’s eyes filled with tears, pleading for some way to save her son. But there was none. Michael knew that she knew it. Her shoulders shook and Michael could say nothing as the small bundle was forced into his arms. He cradled him against his chest, able to feel his warmth. 

“We will do what we must Lord Zenrus.” 

Michael had always known that his sister was strong, stronger than him. At times he wondered at what a beautiful place the world would be if she had been Shepherd rather than him. “I will protect him with my life.” 

“I know,” she whispered as she bent down and kissed the infant’s forehead. Hands shook as she removed the circlet and with shaky hands placed it on the infant’s head. It was too large and slid as she placed a kiss on his forehead. Tears fell against his skin as Muse sobbed and moved closer. Michael felt the tears as she buried her face against her neck. He would find a way, some way to keep him alive, keep him safe. 

Finally she let him go and lifted her staff up. Zenrus held the tiny infant in his arms and met Michael’s gaze for a moment before Zenrus turned away. Michael wished for silence. He wished for it more than anything but the screams would never leave. 

 

Each day was more difficult than the last. Michael sat with his back to the door of what had once been his home. The infant had numerous needs, always seeming to cry and as time went by he all too quickly turned into a baby. Large violet eyes always looked up at him, a baby’s chubby cheeks, and hair more the color of his own than Muse’s. 

He was curious about everything and that made him hard to keep track of. He eagerly crawled around, wanting everything, which soon enough became walking. But when the nights were the worst, when the hellions screamed and slammed against the door wanting the living humans Mikleo stayed close. He nestled into Michael’s chest and Michael wrapped his arms around the boy. Small hands clenched to him, crying loudly. 

Each day that went past was like a horror. When food was needed was the worst. Hands shook as Michael lifted up his sword. There were words of apology but he knew Mikleo could not understand, just as he couldn’t understand when he nestled the small child into the untouched Shepherd’s cloak until his return. 

Days were as filled with horrors as the nights were. The land wasted away until all that remained was a wasteland where nothing could truly live. But still Mikleo survived and grew slowly. He was small for how old Michael knew he must be. Michael knew there was only one explanation. The child was malnourished. But the small child had managed to claw his way into his heart. 

Michael knew his failure but this was one thing he couldn’t surrender. Fussiness had eventually disappeared as had the tears and small garbled words that could only be identified as one fact. Mikleo was in pain. 

“Uncle,” Mikleo looked towards him, innocent eyes wide. “The sky’s yucky.” 

Michael looked up and turned towards Mikleo. How many years had it been? He didn’t know. He had nothing to guess at. While Mikleo had begun to walk early it seemed to take long for him to speak. But such words froze Michael’s blood. Without Lailah’s pact he could not see or feel the malevolence. It looked clear to him, the abusive sun beating down on them as it always did. 

But fear clenched at him. 

Mikleo could see the malevolence. He could feel it. How long? How long had he been suffering from living within it? He had been a fool. He had never known. It didn’t seem possible, even for the strongest resonance. Resonance echoed in his bloodline, Muse’s equal to his own. 

“It’s alright Mikleo,” Michael said quietly as the small child came over and crawled into Michael’s lap. He wrapped his arms around the boy and kissed the top of his head. 

“Story?” The voice was small and Michael was reminded as always how fragile life was. A hand reached down as he stared at the book beside him. He had been foolish to write the tale of the Shepherds. Just as him they saved only to allow the world to fall. How many had failed before him? How many had foolishly thought themselves as the epitome of good? He had destroyed this place as surely as Rolance and Hyland had. 

If he had not founded this town. If he had not brought Maotelus to this sanctuary. If he had not let people come, searching for such a sanctuary not a part of Rolance or Hyland. He avoided reading the stories of the Shepherds, rather drifting towards the rich history. It had never occurred to him that such an interest in history was unusual for such a young child, a story not filled with adventure but one of this world, of the eras of this world and words of Seraphim. 

But still it was always the one Mikleo brought to him, his small arms wrapped around the thick book. The ink had faded, the pages yellowed with age, but his own handwriting was obvious on the pages. It had been years since a man had approached him upon seeing it, begging to stay and replicate it. He eventually left Camlann, his eyes bright, his arms full of replicas. 

Maybe it had been greedily absorbed by those in the world outside Camlann, or perhaps it was something forgotten in the short amount of time, much like Camlann, sealed away from the world. 

But the one there was the only one written in his hand. The well-worn spine made no sound, the smell of the pages musky from age. Mikleo stared at the pictures in fascination as he nestled in his arms until tiredness finally dragged him to sleep. The book was always placed down silently as he picked up the boy and carried him to his worn bed. 

Michael wrapped his arms around him and slept peacefully, the feel of the boy warm in his arms.

 

It was bittersweet, watching Mikleo grow older. He became independent, no longer needing him as he once did. But he still did. He needed him late at night when the hellions became even more restless, desperate for the only humans that remained. 

But even as Mikleo grew Michael couldn’t help the pride for the boy. Over the years he had thought sadness would drag him down until he was the same as Camlann, dead inside. But Mikleo didn’t allow for that. Too soon for Michael’s liking he learned to read and devoured the book he once always brought to him. Still every now and again the bright-eyed child would beg him for more stories about the world outside. 

Even as he grew he was forever small, his very form fragile and thin. Michael knew that the lack of proper food would keep him from growing properly. But still despite that Mikleo stood on his toes to make himself taller and looked at him brightly every time he grew slightly. 

As time passed there wasn’t a way to keep Mikleo inside while he foraged for food. A piece of wood was carved into a thin form and Mikleo’s eyes lit up brightly when he was handed it. He was still young, still inexperienced, but Michael knew the child needed to be armed. 

Sand crunched underfoot and Michael was hyper-vigilant, afraid of what would happen. Mikleo did not make it any easier as he stared up at the sky and ran forward, eager to explore every inch of the land. Michael was torn between keeping him close for safety and keeping him in clear sight to let him explore an outside that he had never seen. 

He was a fool, truly a fool. The scream of Mikleo’s name caught in his throat as the hellion attacked. Michael ran forward, sword drawn, desperate to at least slow it down. Mikleo froze as the flames appeared from his hand and slammed against the hellion. It screamed and fell to the ground, darkness smoking from its body until it dissipated and left a body behind. 

Pain tore at Michael’s heart at the sight of the child. He had known him, tried to keep him safe along with so many others. Eyes flickered towards Mikleo as the child stared in what could only be horror. 

Not Mikleo. The pact was meant to be with me, give me the power, not subject an innocent child to this.

The staff dropped to the ground with a clatter upon the ground, Mikleo’s entire body shaking. This hadn’t been the way it had been meant to be. Mikleo was innocent, but Maotelus had given him the power. The power that he had been willing to bear. Michael knelt down and pulled Mikleo against his chest as he quivered. A hand was pressed to the sandy hair and forced Mikleo to hide his face in his chest. Michael heard the sounds as young hands gripped his jacket. 

And there on the ground lay the body of a human. Michael recognized him as one of the citizens of Camlann but of course Mikleo wouldn’t. All he would see was the man he killed. Pressed up against him Mikleo’s body shook before he slowly turned and saw the body. 

Michael saw the look, the horror, and Mikleo crumpled to his knees. 

He was so young. Too young to deal with this but he seemed to understand some things. 

“Did I do it?” His voice was soft, filled with tears as Mikleo buried his face in his hands. 

“Yes,” Michael reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Death is the only freedom there was for him. The only way he could be saved from that monster. You took his life to save him but you cannot kill without compassion. Take him Mikleo, bury him, remember him and bear his soul. Do so for every life you take.” 

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to!” 

Michael knelt down as arms wrapped around his nephew’s small body. “You have to Mikleo. You have to be strong. You’re the only one that can stop the hellions here and be the one to stand between Maotelus and the outside world. You are no Shepherd and one will not be called, but you were chosen to destroy and protect at the same time. Destroy the malevolence and stand between Maotelus and the world. Should he escape you are to destroy him and therefore destroy malevolence. This burden will not be easy but it is yours to bear. You are strong and by becoming a force of destruction within darkness for the darkness you will protect.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” Shoulders shook as small hands clutched at Michael’s arms. 

“This is what you have been called to do.” 

It was Mikleo that had been called and there was nothing he could do. This was his nephew’s fate, a fate of pain. Michael glanced down at the shaking boy as hellions inched closer. Slowly Mikleo stirred in his arms and held the makeshift staff in one hand. 

He was strong, just like Muse. Stronger than he could ever be. It would take that strength from his sister who would sacrifice herself to become a seal to do what was expected of Mikleo. His hands shook as he stared down at it. 

Michael had no idea where the power had come from. There was no question at all that Mikleo had used Seraphic artes, as if Maotelus himself were his Prime Lord. Could that be the truth? Could the pact be with Maotelus? 

Was that what gave him this power? 

Mikleo was shaking but the artes came uncontrolled. As the bodies fell he crumpled to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Loud sobs escaped as Michael reached over and placed a hand on the shaking shoulders. He was too young. He didn’t deserve this. 

“Mikleo, you must bury them. Their souls are now a part of yours even though this was the only way you could save them,” Mikleo’s shoulders still shook, his sobs audible. Michael couldn’t imagine what it was like for the boy to take life for the first time. But it had to be done. There was no other way. 

It was meant to be him. He could withstand the burden, but now that burden had fallen upon his sensitive nephew. 

“You are the only one that can do it. This world has no saviors, only fairy tales.” 

He should know. He had been the Shepherd. He had purified the world but in the end he couldn’t save anyone. No one could save the world. Someday they would all fail and bring about destruction. That was just the reality of the world. 

Mikleo’s eyes opened as the tears fell from violet eyes. They streamed down his face and fell to the ground. Wet drops remained on the dry, cracked ground as Michael tightened his grip on Mikleo’s shoulders. 

“This is not a time to cry for yourself Mikleo and don’t mourn for them. You set them free, but you can never forgive them. Now bury them. Honor them in death. That is what you must do for them.” 

Mikleo took shaky steps forwards and hands scrabble at the ground. His shoulders shook as he dug deeper. Michael watched him as long as it took. Even when Mikleo had to stop for the number of bodies to grow. 

 

Mikleo hadn’t left again to gather food with him. He hadn’t touched the book. Barely ate his food. Michael didn’t have to ask why as he watched his nephew in the corner of the battered home. He sat there when he was awake, arms wrapped around his legs as they were pulled against his chest. 

When he did sleep it was fitful. He often woke screaming and crying. 

Nightmares. 

There were nightmares haunting his beloved nephew after what had happened. All that was left deep in Michaels heart was anger, anger for the humans outside Camlann and anger for Maotelus who didn’t lay this curse on him. 

Mikleo eventually forced himself to eat. Or at least enough to stay alive. 

It hurt to watch his nephew suffer so much when the curse should be his. 

“Uncle, why isn’t there a Shepherd coming to save us?” 

“Shepherds are like fairy tales. In the end they won’t save anyone. That’s why you have the power. You’re the only hope left.” 

Mikleo stared down as he clenched his knees tightly. “Is it outside here? The darkness?” 

“The Malevolence? Yes. Malevolence will exist as long as humans do but it won’t consume the world. Not as long as the Lord of Calamity remains here.” 

“The Lord of Calamity?” 

“He was once the king of all Seraphim, named Maotelus. We must keep him here in Camlann and protect the rest of the world.” 

“What happened uncle?” 

“Outsiders. Selfish humans from outside Camlann desecrated his temple. They twisted him. He was the one to give you your power. The power to stop all this but through the power of darkness rather than light. Light only fails. The Shepherds have proven that.” 

Mikleo clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants. “But it was the ones from the outside world!” 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s our duty to protect them.” 

Mikleo let his head drop and the tears fell against the fabric. Michael knew it would be hard for him to understand. He was the only one that Mikleo had ever known. 

“I’ll do it,” Mikleo’s voice was barely a whisper as his fingers slowly released his pants. He lifted his head up and wiped the tears away. “I’ll protect the world because I have to.” 

His voice shook. It wasn’t solid but Michael knew that Mikleo wouldn’t go back on his word. He watched his nephew proudly as he clenched his hands tightly around his staff. Mikleo would protect this world with Maotelus’ dark power. He would turn Maotelus’ power against him. 

Michael looked briefly towards the chest where he kept the bow and quiver buried safely. 

Someday. 

Someday Mikleo would be ready for that burden. The burden of slaying Maotelus. Of saving the entire world.


End file.
